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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22370662">Put my pieces back together</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taniushka12/pseuds/Taniushka12'>Taniushka12</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anger, Denial of Feelings, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 12:54:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>921</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22370662</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taniushka12/pseuds/Taniushka12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim Stoker was a ruined man. But not all of it had to be so bad.</p><p>(For the prompt "good morning kiss", that got a bit carried away)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Put my pieces back together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> They were nothing, Tim thought, they were just two desperate men who didn't hate being together, the pressure of their shitty lives and the need of Touch, Affection, Anything outweighed Martin's stupid infatuation and Tim's own destructive anger. But they were Nothing.</p><p> That was what he always told himself at least, when Martin successfully pulled him to a takeway before heading down to his house, making sure he ate something while trying to chat him up in a distorted mirror version of what it used to be their first hookup, knowing it was a ruse, for unconscious that it was. Doing the things he wished he could do for Jon, with Jon, he was just a dull replacement and he knew it.</p><p> That was what he tried to tell himself, at least.</p><p> He remembered the last time they woke up together, in the few minutes where the sun hit Martin's department just right and his freckled skin had this fuzzy orange undertone, his hands carefully playing with Tim's hair. There was a distance between them, one that Martin notoriously wanted to cross as he greeted him good morning with sleep on his voice, and Tim had to tell himself again (again and again) how pointless it was all, and that they weren't that sort of people. They were desperate enough to sleep with each other but they didn't do oh slow good morning kisses, no matter Martin's deer in the highlights look as he traced his face with the pads of his fingers, no matter his own aching need to sink himself in him and never have to get up.</p><p> Before he Did, to make them both some coffee and tea so he could head out afterwards.</p><p> Tim groaned, feeling his head heavy and swirling. And remembering That, the last time he saw Martin over a week ago, didn't help in the slightest.</p><p> He had tried to escape again -talk about pointless- spending the week hopping motels and feeling progressively worse the more he spent away from the institute. And he hated it, hated the pull he felt strong as a heartbeat when he got closer after that period of time, hated how now, crossing the threshold of his prison, felt his head slowly clearing and his body gaining traction. He hated the image of Elias' smug satisfaction at seeing him there again, like a chained animal.</p><p> It was that hate what kept him going, that anger fuelling the fire inside of him until he got to avenge his brother's death or until it destroyed him whole. Probably both. That thought spiralled on his mind until he got down into the archives and something shifted inside. There he was, sitting with his broad back facing him as he wrote something down on his desk, illuminated by that dusty yellow light.</p><p> Suddenly the sight smouldered his anger and for that he wanted to hate, he really did, hate his ability to keep level headed and soft in the absolute nightmare that was their lives, hate <em>him</em>, but he simply couldn't.</p><p> He walked up to him before touching his shoulder, admiring the face journey that he could muster in two seconds between startling, looking up with inquiry-then-surprise, and rising up to meet him.</p><p>  —Tim, where-? How-?</p><p> But he didn't give him time to finish, grabbing his face and kissing him square on the lips. He didn't thought the rest would be down there, and if he was being honest with himself he really didn't care, but given how quickly Martin went from shocked to holding his face up and gently pushing him into the desk he figured they were alone. Tim got a hold of his soft curls, deepening the kiss but too exhausted to be anything but soft, and slow, shivering a bit at the feeling of his hands on his neck and thumb caressing his cheek.</p><p> There was a question on his eyes when they parted as Tim nudged their noses for a second, pressing his lips on his cheek and saying, voice rough with disuse for the last couple of days.</p><p> —Morning.</p><p> The confusion on his face only lasted a few moments, a huff and a then a stained laugh bubbling from his lips that even Tim couldn't stop himself from smiling a bit. There was something on his face, still, that told him that they might have A Talk later, but for the moment Martin pulled him into a hug strong enough to keep him there, hands buried on his short hair, and oh how Tim wanted to stay there just about forever. </p><p> And <em>he knew</em> that they couldn't, he couldn't keep that up. They were all trapped there and he knew He was going to die if the opportunity to kamikaze the circus came, but...</p><p> —G' morning.  —He parroted back, muffled with Tim's hair as his hand traced his back—... Are you alright?</p><p> His laugh had a bitter edge, but he still closed his eyes, face pressed against his shoulder.</p><p> —Sure. I'm as good as I can be. —And he thought back of his week, on how miserable he felt until he got closer to the Institute, on how angry he felt until he got closer to Martin. And it might be all pointless in the end but right in that moment he couldn't help thinking how he'd kiss every freckle every morning that he could get with him.</p><p>
  <em>
    <strike>I'm okay now.</strike>
  </em>
  <strike></strike>
</p><p> Tim Stoker was a ruined man. But not all of it had to be so bad.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I originally wrote this for a tumblr prompt in JULY last year, but never posted it bc when I finished writing it realized it didn't Exactly match the prompt? But fuck that, because timartin is good u_u</p><p>Hope you liked it!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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